It Never Rains but Pours
by gomababe
Summary: Summary inside, but a warning here. Lots of angst. Reviews are love as ever


A/N: Having read more thoroughly about the Highland Clearances I needed to write a fic about how it affected Scotland. After all, Scotland no longer had his own Parliament at the time they started in earnest and I can't imagine that cutting a nation's connection to a large part of their population would do them any favours. Set in the mid-eighteenth century, at the beginning of the much more brutal second phase of the Clearances. And yes France is back in badass mode because Scotland can't be.

...

Scotland shuddered as another round of bile forced its way up his throat, the itch of yet more of his people dying as they were evicted from their family homes a much maligned constant by now. France sighed as he rubbed the Scottish man's back,

"Why your brother thinks this is progress is beyond me." He tutted as Scotland finally finished retching. Scotland sent the man a weak, sarcastic smirk,

"Because it benefits him and his colonies apparently." He croaked, shivering as he leaned back against the other nation. France sighed as he tried to flatten his love's unruly hair,

"'E 'as been at this for over a century now, cher." He told the northern nation quietly. Scotland hummed as he closed his eyes,

"I ken, but I cannae really dae anythin' aboot it." He murmured, "I wis hopin' it would stop eventually, but I dinnae ken if it will until the he's rid o' every last trace o' the Highlanders." France frowned,

"If I didn't know better I would say 'e was trying to kill you, mon couer." He stated. Scotland chuckled wearily,

"What makes you think he isnae?" he asked tiredly. He rubbed at his eyes, "No' that he'll succeed in that, folk in the Lowlands still recognise themsel's as Scottish first." He assured France as he felt the blonde man tense. France sighed as he wrapped his arms around Scotland's shoulders,

"Still, this is getting ridiculous." He said, a distasteful look on his face, "The rebellions are long over and it's not like you've even got the strength left to muster up another attempt anyway." Scotland hummed as he started to drift off,

"Aye well, Arthur's always been a wee bit paranoid. Apparently Seamus is pissing him off too, which isnae helpin' matters." He muttered, trying desperately not to fall asleep on the floor of the room. France clicked his tongue as he finally picked Scotland up and carried him over to his bed,

"I shall still be 'aving a word with L'Angleterre about this." He said firmly, not liking the fact that the Scot was far too easy to pick up these days, "'E cannot keep this up." Scotland hummed a faint response, too tired to really reply as he nuzzled into France's shoulder. France glanced down at his love and sighed; the clearances had taken their toll on the Scotsman's body as his people died of starvation and those that could, fled to the American colonies. He wondered vaguely why the clearances were having such an adverse affect on his best friend's health, after all, the vast majority of people living in the lowland areas were managing just fine. He shook his head as he put Scotland back in bed, trying to figure things like this out were just asking for all sorts of headaches, and he didn't want to particularly deal with Greece right now. He smiled faintly as he put Scotland back into bed and tucked the duvet covers around him. The red-head had already fallen back asleep and sighed as he snuggled deeper into the covers and his pillow. France smiled tightly as he brushed the auburn strands out of his lover's face; at least Scotland hadn't gotten any worse. It did worry him, however, that things didn't seem to be getting any better either. He knew these things needed time, but England had not let up for even one month for the last hundred years. He scowled at the view out of the window, well England was going to have to stop, and he was going to stop now.

...

England sighed as he drank his tea in the garden, America and Canada had both shot up recently, obviously all the extra immigration was doing them both some good. He looked up as America {or was it actually Canada?} came up to him, looking quite concerned,

"England, papa is at the door." Came the quiet voice {so it had been Canada after all}. England sighed irritably,

"What does the frog want?" he asked. Canada hugged his bear closer to him at the tone,

"He didn't say, but he doesn't look happy." The young boy relayed, flinching back as England put his tea on the table with a scowl,

"I suppose I'd better go see what he wants." He said, "Canada, go and see if you can find America and make sure he hasn't killed himself." He told the young colony. Canada nodded and obediently went off to look for his brother. England growled as he stalked off to the front door, only to be met with the most irritated Frenchman he'd seen for a good few decades. England glared at the intruder,

"I do not believe that you had been invited in frog!" he snapped. France muttered something in French that England didn't quite catch before he replied to the other nation,

"I 'ave no time to be kept waiting around L'Angleterre," he growled dangerously, "so I will make this brief." He suddenly grabbed the front of England's coat and pulled the younger nation closer, "Those 'Ighland Clearances that you are insisting upon are going to stop, and they are going to stop now." England, whose hand had automatically gone for his sword, glared up at the French man,

"I will, when those barbarians learn their place and leave peacefully." He replied coldly, "I have no time to be dealing with any more uprisings within the Kingdom France and if this is what it takes to stop them, then I will not stop until they do." He stifled a surprised gasp as France pushed him against the wall, tightening his hold on England's coat. The look that the blonde haired man was giving him could have stopped the devil in his tracks. France's voice was almost too low for England to hear his next words,

"You are destroying an entire people L'Angleterre." He said, "'Ave you any idea what that does to a nation?" he asked. England scoffed,

"Of course I do you bloody idiot, I was around when Rome invaded." He reminded the other empire. France's eyes narrowed,

"Then you are probably quite aware of what is 'appening to L'Ecosse then?" he queried, "Because I am getting the impression that you either don't really know or don't actually care." England snorted in disdain,

"If this is what it takes to teach that barbarian a lesson then I am going to continue to clear the Highlands. It's not like they're of much use to anyone anyway." France had to stop himself from throttling the younger nation, settling instead for growling dangerously at him,

"They were of plenty use to the people that lived there." He snapped, "I don't think I 'ave made myself clear enough." He said quietly, "You are going to stop these clearings or I am going to make you before you wind up killing your own brother." England watched impassively as France kept struggling to keep his temper in check,

"You're still on about that? Dear Lord Francis, I thought you got over him centuries ago." He sniffed, "Anyway, it's not like clearing out some useless space is going to kill him. He has plenty of people who live in the southern parts who are managing just fine from what I've been hearing." France did not let go of his hold on England's coat, but the confusion over the situation was now winning over the rage he was feeling towards his northern neighbour,

"I am well aware of that." France said quietly, "And yet L'Ecosse continues to weaken despite it." He added; his voice and demeanour still dangerous. England actually raised an eyebrow at that, but he quickly started sneering again,

"Not my fault you fall for his ploys every time he puts it on." He replied airily, "Then again the both of you have always had each wrapped around your little fingers haven't you?" France pushed England against the wall again, eyes flashing in anger,

"I can most certainly assure you that L'Ecosse is putting nothing on." He growled, "No one can keep up such a charade for over a hundred years L'Angleterre." England snorted,

"You're forgetting how stubborn Scotland can be." He said, "But I should like to see exactly how 'badly off' my brother is since you are being so insistent about it being true."France continued glaring at England,

"And what makes you think I will let you?" he asked. England snorted again,

"Either you let me go and I get to see my brother or I call for the guards to drag you off back to your own house and you don't get a chance to see your little lover again." He replied smoothly. France's hold on England's coat wavered for a moment before he finally let go,

"Were it not for the fact that L'Ecosse needed me then I would never 'ave agreed to this." He snipped. England scoffed as he smoothed his clothes down and marched to the garden,

"America, Canada!" he snapped. Almost immediately the two colonies appeared in front of the empire, Canada clutching his polar bear companion close to him in fear. England looked the two boys over,

"Go get changed, both of you." He told them more gently, "We're going out for a little while." America immediately grinned happily,

"Really?" he exclaimed, "Where are we going England?" he asked excitedly. England chuckled at the small boy's enthusiasm,

"We're going to visit Scotland for a little while. France said he wasn't feeling very well." He said, shooting the French man a warning glare. Canada looked concerned,

"Is Uncle Scotland alright?" he asked quietly. America grabbed his brother's arm and gave him a confident grin,

"He will be once the Hero arrives!" he yelled, dragging the smaller boy inside and up the stairs. England watched the two colonies leave with a fond smile before he looked over to France, who did not look pleased,

"You should 'ave left them 'ere." He said, "Canada is very close to 'is Oncle, seeing 'im so ill will probably scare the boy." England snorted,

"I can't leave them here alone, and you won't let me see my brother by myself. What other choice do I have exactly?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. France sighed, he could see England's point, but it seemed that he was the only one who knew how serious things had become.

...

_Two hours later_

England let the boys run into Scotland's garden {discreetly telling the fae who were floating about to leave them alone or he was going to Name Names} while he marched up the stairs, followed closely by France. When he burst into the room he grinned triumphantly,

"There we are; bed's empty. If Scotland was as badly off as you said he was he wouldn't be able to get up." France's eyes went wide as he looked around the room. Something still wasn't right, the knotting at the bottom of his gut telling him that something had gone horribly wrong. He started to walk into the room when something on the floor stopped him. Barely visible against the dark wood was a splash of what looked like...

"Blood?" France muttered as he knelt down to examine it further. Immediately France stood up, scanning the room frantically, hands beginning to shake. England watched the other man closely, still wanting to seem disinterested. But his curiosity was piqued when France suddenly got up,

"What's the matter with you frog? Finally worked out what I'd been telling you the entire time?" he scoffed. France rounded on him, face paled but eyes still narrowed,

"Non," he replied sharply, "we need to find L'Ecosse, and we need to find him _now_." He said, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. England blinked in surprise as France all but ran out of the room, leaving the Englishman to wonder what the blazes had just happened. He got his answer when one of Scotland's fairies came rushing into the room,

"Albion, Albion!" she called frantically, "You need to come quickly." She told the nation, who frowned in concern, it wasn't like the fae to get involved in things like this. He held out his hand so the little creature could land on it,

"What's the matter Aoife?" he asked, gingerly holding the exhausted fairy, allowing her to rest. The fairy looked up at him, tears streaming down her tiny face,

"It's Alba," she whimpered, "He hurts so much, he needs help!" England paled; it was one thing for the frog to tell him about this, it was quite another when it was one of Scotland's own fairies. He took a steadying breath,

"Where is he?" he asked quietly. Aiofe whimpered again before answering,

"He's in the washroom." She said. England nodded,

"Right, thank you." He looked the tiny creature over with concern, "Will you be alright?" he asked. The fairy nodded wearily,

"I will." She assured the nation, "Please just hurry." She pleaded as she took off out of the window again. England did not hesitate to rush into the room the fairy had mentioned, wondering where the hell France had got to. As soon as he opened the door, England could see exactly what France had been trying to tell him. Scotland sat huddled on the cold, stone floor, clutching at his head with both hands, blood dripping from his nose. He was muttering something in Scots, but England couldn't quite catch it. England swallowed thickly as he carefully walked over to his brother,

"FRANCE!" he called, his voice echoing through the large house, "Get in here you bloody frog! I need help!" almost immediately the other nation was in the room. France hesitated for a moment at the door; eyes wide as he looked his love over but he was quickly by Scotland's side,

"L'Ecosse, L'Ecosse, can you 'ear me mon amour?" he asked frantically. Scotland shuddered but managed a quiet croak,

"Francis?" he asked, squinting one eye open and squeezing it shut again almost immediately, "God it hurts so much." He sobbed, "Just make it stop." He begged. France managed to hold back his own sob as he gingerly hugged the northern nation,

"I know it does mon amour, and I wish I could." He said quietly, voice starting to crack uncertainly. England hovered nearby, uncertain of what to do. Finally he took out a handkerchief from the pocket of his coat and used it to try to wipe up his brother's nose and face,

"What the hell is going on?" he asked his brother quietly. Scotland didn't reply, going right back to muttering in Scots. England frowned in worry; surely evicting a few people off some land in the north of the country shouldn't be causing as large a problem for the nation in question as this? France also seemed to realise that something else had come into play here. He looked up to England, his face paler than ever,

"Something else is going on." He told the other nation, "I don't know what, but it is exacerbating the situation." England took in a deep breath and released it slowly,

"I'll send a message to Wales to enquire whether something is going on in Parliament." He said, "In the meantime, we need to get Scotland moved back into the bedroom." France stroked at Scotland's cheek in a futile attempt to calm the Scottish man. He glanced over at England again,

"Is it a wise idea to move 'im when 'e is like this?" he asked, his accent slipping badly, "I do not think 'e can even 'ear us let alone cooperate with what we want." England snorted,

"Don't be such a coward France." He snipped, "He needs to be moved before he does himself any more damage." He said, grabbing onto Scotland's left arm tightly, "Come on, get his other arm and help me get him out of here." He told the blonde Frenchman, leaving no room for argument. France sighed heavily as he took Scotland's other arm,

"I'm sorry mon amour." He muttered as Scotland struggled against the two men, clearly becoming delirious. England tightened his grip on his brother,

"Stop struggling, you idiot, you're perfectly safe." He snapped. Scotland only struggled more at the sound of England's voice, nearly throwing both nations off. This time France tried to get through to him,

"L'Ecosse, mon couer, please stop struggling." He pleaded, voice really cracking this time, "Vous êtes sûr!" in all the commotion neither England or France noticed that America and Canada had rushed up the stairs upon hearing all the noise. It wasn't until America yelled out in fear that either man even noticed the colonies were there. England's eyes went wide as he looked at the two boys,

"America, Canada. What the blazes are you two doing here? Get back outside!" he snapped. America nodded and tugged on his brother's arm, but the younger colony seemed rooted to the spot,

"Uncle Scotland?" he whimpered. Scotland abruptly stopped struggling against France and England's hold on him,

"Wean?" he asked weakly, slowly looking up to see Canada frozen to the spot. France looked first at Scotland, then at Canada, then back at Scotland,

"Le Canada, viennent satisfont ici." He told the colony gently. England shot the French nation a glare,

"What are you doing?" he hissed. France glared right back at England,

"Making it easier to get L'Ecosse back to his bedroom." He replied curtly as Canada obediently came up beside his papa. France looked back down at the young boy, "Le Canada, pouvez-vous continuer à parler à votre oncle?" he asked. Canada looked over at Scotland nervously, but nodded slowly as Scotland squeezed his eyes shut again. The little boy took a hold of his uncle's arm,

"Uncle Scotland, it's alright," he said quietly, "papa and England are only trying to help." He told the older nation. Scotland shivered,

"I ken, I ken, but it... I cannae..." he struggled to put a coherent sentence together. France looked over to England and nodded as he started to walk Scotland out of the washroom. Canada walked alongside them,

"See, everything's fine, we're just going through to the bedroom, then maybe I can tell you one of my favourite bedtime stories." He babbled, trying to get his dear uncle to concentrate on something other than the pain of his people. America soon joined his brother in the activity,

"Yeah, then maybe you can tell us some of your favourite stories when you're feeling better. He added enthusiastically, "England's are great and all, but I bet you have tons of really good stories too." France smiled at the two colonies as he and England guided Scotland back into the bedroom, the innocence of children always seemed to be the best medicine for these things. England smiled at the two boys, glad that they both seemed to be handling this a lot better than he'd thought they would. Eventually France was able to manoeuvre Scotland into his bed,

"There we are." He sighed, "L'Ecosse, do you want me to get you anything?" he asked sitting down on the bed next to the red haired man and placing his hand on the other's arm. Scotland shook his head slowly,

"N... no." He replied weakly. He slowly seemed to be getting over whatever it was that had affected him in the washroom. France nodded and brushed some of Scotland's hair out of his face,

"Alright, but if you do need anything let either me or L'Angleterre know." He told him. Scotland hummed an agreement, not daring to nod now the nosebleed had stopped. Canada clambered up onto the bed next to his uncle and hugged him wordlessly. Scotland looked down at the little colony, smiled faintly and looped an arm around him,

"Ta fer the help wee one." He croaked. Canada looked up at his uncle and smiled,

"You're welcome." He said quietly, burying his head in Scotland's side. England chuckled faintly at the sight, leaning against the door of the bedroom,

"Well now I know what it takes for Scotland to show off his softy side in front of other people." Scotland looked up at his brother and sent him a half hearted glare,

"Dinnae think ye'll be seein' it again." He snipped tiredly, stifling a yawn. England snorted in amusement,

"I wouldn't have thought so. Get some sleep, you look bloody exhausted." Scotland frowned,

"Why do ye even care all o' the sudden?" he asked, his mind working too slowly to really catch up to the situation. England sighed irritably,

"I might intensely dislike you at times, but I don't want you dead." He replied, "I'm not going to tell you again. Get some sleep. I'm going to look a few things up." He told his brother. France sighed,

"L'Angleterre is right mon cher." He said, rubbing his thumb absently on Scotland's hand, "You need to rest." Scotland looked up at France, over to England and finally to Canada, who was looking up at his uncle with a worried expression. Scotland sighed,

"Well, seein' as ye're all gangin' up on me." He muttered. France smiled for the first time that day,

"We're just worried, cher." He told the red-head simply, "Allons dormir, nous serons toujours ici quand vous vous réveillez encore." Scotland sighed as he shifted his weight to get more comfortable, yawned again and fell asleep again almost immediately. France got up off the bed and sorted the duvet. He looked over to Canada,

"Canada, are you coming back downstairs?" he asked quietly. The colony shook his head,

"No I'll stay here." He replied, even more quietly, still clutching onto his uncle. England pursed his lips, but a quick glare from France made him refrain from saying anything. Instead the British Empire looked to America,

"Alright, the rest of you downstairs. We should let Scotland sleep, Canada will keep an eye on things for us." He told the others in the room. America pouted,

"But England..." he started to whine. England sent his colony a stern look,

"America, now is not a good time to start trying my patience." He all but growled. America shut up and obediently headed down the large staircase. France gave Scotland one last, worried look before getting up himself,

"What are you planning on doing about this L'Angleterre?" he asked quietly as the two empires left the room. England sighed heavily,

"To be honest, I have no idea yet." He admitted, "If I am completely honest, I doubt there's much I can do. Things are too far along now to reverse what's been done." France hummed his agreement,

"But something still 'as to be done about it, non?" England thought about it for a moment,

"Let's just see how things pan out from here." He said, "Should things continue to get worse then I shall certainly attempt to intervene, but I'm reluctant to get too deeply involved in this. Scottish politics are delicate enough as it is." France frowned at the younger nation,

"But Scotland's politics are dealt with..." England glared at France,

"Yes I know everything's dealt with down in London now, thank you for reminding me about that France." He snipped, "But that doesn't mean to say I want to get involved too deeply with the Scottish Minister." He said. France sighed,

"I just want L'Ecosse to get better." He said quietly, "'E 'as been through quite enough already." England looked suitably guilty,

"I know," he sighed, "hopefully this is as bad as it's going to get. I don't fancy a repeat of 1705." He muttered. France nodded his agreement,

"Me neither." He looked out of the window, over at the dreary landscape he had come to love so much and sighed heavily. It was raining again, he noticed and not just a small rain shower either. How fitting. France really, truly adored Scotland and just wanted what was best for the other nation, but it seemed that the world was conspiring against him once again. He sat down at the table in the kitchen and ran his hands through his hair. He did not want to think of what might happen should things continue to deteriorate, but given the way things had turned out today he knew that he might have to. He watched as England bustled around, sorting out some tea for everyone. At least England himself would now let up on the animosity and actually try to help, he mused. How much help the younger nation would actually give was another matter, however. France shook his head to clear it. It was no use trying to think too far ahead right now. Scotland needed him to remain strong, and he would be, for as long as it took.


End file.
